Roulette
by keladryevangelinerhysenn
Summary: There was no sign in front of the club just a multicolored neon sign that gave the illusion of a spinning revolver. Zuko fixes his sister and her mistakes once again. Modern-universe one-shot


**WARNING: BIZARRE. Some of you are definitely going to be saying "what the fuck?" by the end of this. I once read a Harry Potter fic that took place in Soviet Russia and I couldn't stop laughing because **_**it was just too fucking weird**_**. I have a feeling this will have the same effect, but I couldn't resist writing it. **

**This is an alternate reality that starts with two one-sided phone conversations and is partially told in Zuko's flashbacks (some of which are the same scenes from the show, just in a different setting). **

**I started thinking about what circumstances would surround the plot of ATLA in real life. I was going to completely re-write the series in this reality, I planned it all out and it was going to be awesome, but in the end I really didn't have the time and it would have taken a lot of effort. Hopefully that'll clear some of the random references up. **

**Other warnings: DRUGS and lots of them, mentions of eating disorders, my incurable penchant for using dirty swear words, general insanity**

**I do not own ATLA**

* * *

><p><strong>Roulette<strong>

A slender figure sidled through the darkened tunnels of an exclusive club where girls in Gucci did lines of cocaine on gilded platters. Her hair hung in a lacquered sheath as she moved with swift determination. The faint echo of a deafening bass had followed her into the bowels of the building and was gradually becoming louder as she traveled closer to the surface. The steady beat vibrated through the red soles of her shoes and as she opened the door to her domain, she continued on without faltering.

Electric blue lights accompanied the thunderous boom of the music and the buzz of voices. The corridors weren't particularly congested, but when she walked by, people moved. No one dared to get in the way of the girl in the translucent gold dress with eyes to match. It amused her greatly to see wayward socialites press themselves up against the wall when they noticed her presence.

Very few knew anything about the girl that seemed to run the club, except for the fact that she was a constantly present and no one _ever_ got in her way. Many assumed that it wasn't exactly wise (or particularly safe) to get to know her, and they were certainly correct.

Her stilettos severely connected with the floor with every step until she finally reached her destination. The bathroom attendant was the only one inside the brightly lit room.

"Leave." She ordered curtly. The woman ceased clearing the remnants of angel dust off the marble counter without looking up at foreboding young girl.

As soon as the door was securely shut behind her, the soundproof walls provided the silence she required. She pulled her phone out from her cleavage and removed a folded up paper from the single sleeve of her dress. Not bothering to push her hair off her face, she punched several buttons while referencing the paper someone had slipped her earlier that night.

The phone began to ring and the noise echoed off the walls. Her calm mask slowly disappeared and was replaced by an expression of sadness and distress. She looked down at the counter, waiting.

"Hi." She whispered, summoning tears spontaneously.

She seemed to listen for an inordinate amount of time.

"I'm so sorry…" She whispered incoherently.

"I… never mind. I never should have..." She choked out, gripping the marble countertop for dramatic support.

She waited.

"I messed up, I…" She bit her lower lip sniffed loudly and took a deep breath. "I really messed up this time" Her confession sounded painful as it slipped between her clenched teeth. "I don't know what to…" She was interrupted, but she waited quietly for the other line to reply.

She began to sound more urgent with every moment that passed. "I've been in L.A., I'm in trouble…" She tried to hold in another sob. "I'm trapped." Her voice faltered slightly despite her efforts.

"Then what?" She said burst out loudly, reaching the brink of hysteria. "He won't let me leave! If I run he will stop at nothing to get me back!"

"I owe him money… a lot of money." She said, overcome with false anguish.

She refused to reply for what seemed like an unnecessarily long time.

"I'm in a nightclub in West Hollywood." The girl gracefully swept her hair away from her face. Even now she felt her patience growing short.

"You'll find me, Zuzu." She said abruptly. "I have faith in you." She shut the phone with an annoyed sigh and cut off the conversation.

Azula turned and leaned against the marble counter as a smug grin spread across her lips.

* * *

><p>The clang of metal reverberated off of the tall glass buildings in London as the rare sun was setting. The light glistened on the glass skyscrapers and the colorful signs and highways of the city had begun to glow. Atop one of the highest buildings, two figures were actively engaged in a duel. It was quieter above the city and every clash of their foils echoed off of the other high rises.<p>

At last one of the combatants lunged forward adeptly and managed to whack her opponent. She laughed in triumph. The loser swore loudly.

"Damn it, Katara! Have you been taking lessons or something?"

"On top of med school?" Katara snorted. They set their equipment down and sat down at a pleasant patio set near the well-kept rooftop garden. "I'm actually surprised that _you_ have time to do something new. You must own half the real estate in the city by now." Katara rolled her eyes at her infinitely wealthy friend.

"Well, it's more like a quarter of the city at the moment, but thanks for the vote of confidence." He grinned into his glass. "And since I've expanded Agni Industries to London I figured I needed to take up a pretentious traditional sport."

"It suits you." Katara said, absently stirring her iced tea.

"Thanks." One of his many cell phones began to ring obnoxiously. He stood and walked toward the garden. "Sorry, I have to-"

"No problem." Katara assured him, leaning back to enjoy the view of the skyline.

"Hello?" He answered, but only heard silence. "Hello?" He repeated again, this time in a more serious tone. "Who is this?"

All the color drained out of his face in a split second, and his eyes widened as if he had scene a ghost. "How did you get this number?" He asked, trying to stay calm as a million different thoughts rushed into his head. He had caught Katara's interest; she sat up from her relaxed pose immediately and leaned forward.

"What do you want, Azula." He said unsympathetically. Katara burst out of her chair at that point and nearly knocked it over in the process. He waved her away before shouting: "Wait, wait, don't hang up!" He sounded desperate and indecisive at the same time.

He paused for a moment, carding his fingers through his unkempt hair. "Why did you call me? What the hell is going on?" He turned away from his companion; her eyes were full of questions that he could not answer.

"What did you mess up, Azula? Where are you?" He said sternly, a trace of concern betrayed his otherwise despondent tone.

"Azula, you have to tell me exactly where you are."

"Who Azula? What did you do?" He practically groaned.

"Calm down and _tell me where you are_." The conversation had escalated to the point where he was nearly tearing out his hair.

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific!" He insisted, after she seemed to have answered. A few moments later he took the phone away from his ear, stared at the screen, and started cursing profusely.

"What's going on? What happened?" Katara asked franticly. He pressed the redial button several times to no avail; she had turned her phone off.

"She says she's in trouble… she's in a nightclub in West Hollywood…" He looked like he was in shock. Katara snatched the phone from his hand and looked through the recent calls. "I don't know what to do." He stared vacantly at the sun slipping below the horizon.

"You don't know what to do?" She yelled heatedly, catching his attention. "Listen Zuko, I'm sure she sounded really convincing on the phone, but let's face it, whatever psychiatrist declared _her_ sane is nuts!"

"So what are you suggesting?" He shouted back at her.

"You're not going to do anything! Who knows what she could be up to this time!"

"I have to go! She would never call _me_ unless she really needed to!"

"Do I need to remind you of everything she's put you through? Put _us_ through?" Katara grabbed his shoulders and shook him for good measure. "She chased us around New York with a gang of hired guns! She locked your girlfriend up in a deserted warehouse for weeks! She stole millions of dollars from your company! She _shot_ you, Zuko! If I hadn't been there you would be _dead_!" Katara spat through gritted teeth. "She's no good, but… there is a chance that she could actually be in danger." Katara finally admitted after considering the circumstances she looked down at the concrete floor.

"Exactly. I haven't heard anything about her since she was released from the institute a year ago. She's had plenty of time to fuck things up and I'm sure she has. If she's implicated me or the business in anything, I need to clear it up right _now_."

"Then I'm coming with you." She said resolvedly.

"No, I can to fix this. She's my problem and I don't need your help to save her from herself." Zuko held onto the railing and looked down at the traffic passing far below them. He knew she was mad, she could practically feel the steam rippling from her body.

"Fine. She sure is lucky she has you to rescue her." She hissed, clenching and unclenching her fists. "If you disappear I guess I'll know where to look. And if you decide not to go on your idiotic one man crusade, you let me know." He ignored her seething exit until he heard the porch door close behind her.

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

* * *

><p>There had been every indication that Azula's trial was going to escalate into a full-blown high-profile media nightmare with reporters breaking down doors and crowds of people waiting outside Manhattan District Court to hear the verdict.<p>

Before her funds had been cut, Azula had managed to secure one of the most prominent law firms in the city to argue her case through a network of people who owed her favors. She posted bail the night she was arraigned and was free to roam the city by sunrise. Zuko watched the coverage from his hospital bed. The news had minimal details and none seemed surprised that the infamous socialite had been arrested, as most young heiresses eventually are.

It seemed like an open and shut case, and it was. Azula, in her paranoia, had installed a vast array of security cameras throughout the massive office building that had captured her pulling a Beretta from her desk and shooting her brother in the chest.

Zuko was called in to testify only once a few weeks later. She had appeared in a conservative but very expensive suit flanked by a team of lawyers and doctors and therapists. She pled temporary insanity, brought on by a stress related drug overdose that had been built up over several weeks.

Fatigue plagued her so badly that she looked as though she had two matching black eyes. She surprisingly did not look like a woman going through withdrawal. Azula composed herself with her usual poise, her arms were wrapped across her chest and she only fidgeted very briefly.

Her lawyers presented an indisputably convincing case. They described how her hallucinations and paranoia were brought on by a month long cocaine binge that had been necessary for her to deal with the unending demands of her job in her father's powerful company. They pointed out how she was deranged and clearly in the midst of a drug induced panic attack when Zuko had confronted her. They told the jury with certainty that a repeat episode would likely occur while she was in withdrawal if she didn't receive "_help"_.

At one point they even insinuated that Zuko was partially at fault because he should have called the authorities instead of directly confronting her about their father's illicit activities. They referenced the time when he had forcibly admitted her to a private mental hospital when she was 15 and weighed less than 100 pounds.

One morning shortly before he had been demoted and subsequently thrown out of the house for questioning his father's business ethics, he tried to get his sister to eat what was arguably her favorite cereal, Count Chocula. She had vehemently refused and recoiled as if it would attack her. He wasn't sure why she was destroying herself, maybe it was because of their mother, who had mysteriously packed up and left while they were at elementary school one day, or perhaps it was a vie for attention from their father who took too many transatlantic flights to keep track of, or it might just have been a part of her irrational perfection complex. Either way, Zuko was going to end it.

It wasn't something he liked to think about, the way he had shoved the pen into her skeletal hand and wrapped her fingers around it, forcing her to sign herself in. The hospital attendants had dragged her screaming and cursing from the lobby, the red spaghetti strapped bustier she had been wearing was falling off her shoulders as she told him to go to hell in a disturbingly demonic voice. In that moment she didn't look unlike one of those lost city girls who didn't think they were worth much.

He had burst out of the building and collapsed against the brick wall, covering his eyes from the sun that had just risen over the skyline.

A girl with vacant eyes and a knowing expression held a cigarette out to him. He accepted it gratefully with trembling fingers.

"Is that your girlfriend?" She had said apathetically.

"No." He shook his head and closed his eyes again. "No, that was my sister." He couldn't quite come to terms with what had just occurred. Zuko had placed the square between his teeth and started to fumble for his lighter, but the girl in black pajamas had stepped forward and gently pressed the tip of her own cigarette to his, saving him the embarrassment of lighting it with trembling fingers.

"She's a piece of work." The girl stated with absolutely no sense of emotion at all, staring out at the street once more.

Zuko started to laugh. It was ironic that someone who was probably a mental patient herself had finally acknowledged it. "Everyone else thinks she's wonderful, but thank you- thank you for saying it." There were tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes as he offered her his hand. "I'm Zuko, by the way."

She refused to take it, but offered him a grim smile instead. "I'm Mai."

It certainly wasn't a memory he liked to recall as far as Azula was concerned. He felt sick when he noticed that the host of lawyers and doctors were succeeding in swaying his opinions and emotions as well as the jury's. Zuko began to understand his sister at that point.

The girl he had left at the institution was completely different from the girl he had returned to three years later. During his absence, Azula had transformed from the girl he had known in days when things had not been so worrisome for him. He wasn't sure if that outwardly frivolous and impetuous girl he had once known still existed. She had cast all of that to the wind. Azula had become the serious and responsible one. She had seemed poised, shrewd, and skilled in the art of self preservation. He had forgotten how unstable she had once been when he met his ruthless, flawless sister once again.

She pulled a gold plated cigarette case out of her crocodile skin Hermes bag, and he swore she nearly smirked at him as she placed a cigarette between her fingers and lit it in the court room.

_"I have it under control."_ She had waved a rolled up a 500 riyal note at him. _"I am completely in control."_ And he had believed her. Even after he had found dozens of tiny clear plastic bags littering her bathroom and randomly bumped into a rather sketchy Columbian man roaming around their pent house one afternoon. He had accepted that she was a perfect robot that would always be better than him and had never considered otherwise.

In reality, she was just a criminal, an addict and a liar. She had far more issues than her outward appearance had convinced him to believe.

She drew the cigarette from its perch between her lips. He didn't even consider the implications because he was so accustomed to the sight (which was usually accompanied by a patronizing puff of smoke blown into his face). He temporarily failed to realize that smoking in public buildings had been outlawed for years. But no one in the room had moved to object, no one had even glared at her disapprovingly. It was then that he realized that the entire court was on her side, and that her victory had been guaranteed from the beginning.

She had reapplied her classic blood red Chanel lipstick as the jury deliberated, and he did his best to control his rage at the blatant corruption. He stared at her expressionless face and the only coherent thought that repeated in his head was _Liar, liar, liar_.

Azula was sentenced to a year in a treatment facility in Michigan and was promptly handed multiple restraining orders. All other charges were dropped. A tiny three line column somewhere in the middle of the New York Times stated that she was seeking help after a brief violent outburst and her father's conviction.

One night a year later, Zuko's attorney had called to warn him that she had been released. The next morning he discovered that the Barbados account had been drained and all of the hideous modern art Azula had bought at Christie's and Bonham'sover the years had been smuggled out of their New York apartment.

Afterwards she had disappeared off his radar and he had not bothered to pursue her. He had claimed the insurance and left it at that. Last he heard she was somewhere in Madrid or Singapore.

He wanted nothing to do with her either way.

"Excuse me sir, do you have your immigration form?" Zuko tore his eyes away from the constantly changing flight board and snatched the paper out of his suit pocket, handing it to the TSA agent and quickly moving forward.

* * *

><p>Azula was in love with coffee. Every night she would have two quadruple shot lattes delivered to her just so she could feel her heart race again. She hoarded them as she sat alone at her favorite table in the gracefully uncaring pose she had perfected.<p>

Azula repeatedly glanced at her father's giant golden Rolex that dwarfed her wrist while sipping her latte. The lights were flashing around her as per usual; all the beautiful people who had paid an exorbitant amount to gain admittance were spinning around her in a mess of sequins, silk, and precious metals.

Zuko was nothing if not loyal. He would come for her, and she would be ready. It was nearing three thirty in the morning, his plane would land any minute now and she was going to need another espresso soon. She whispered something to a man standing nearby, and the obnoxious music was cut almost immediately. The crowd shouted in dismay and Azula rolled her eyes.

"Everyone get the hell out." She said loudly, not moving from her position.

"Why should we?" A girl covered in glitter protested.

Azula looked up at her addressor blankly. "I run this bitch." She said simply, snapping her fingers to solidify her point. A bouncer thrust the girl toward the door. Azula didn't move until everyone had flooded from the building. It was even more magnificent when it was completely deserted. There was no sign of the party at all; the trash and the trashed people had been cleared away.

She walked over to the window, balanced precariously on her high heels. She peered out of the closed blinds. He would come, she was sure of it.

* * *

><p>As soon as she was out of the way, Zuko sat on an ottoman in the room that served as Azula's closet and nearly cried. The sheer amount of clothing she had compiled was overwhelming and he was at a loss for what to do. The shelves of shoes alone could have fed every homeless person in the city for the rest of their lives. The entire collection of gowns probably could have bought a third world country or turned Calcutta into a sparkling metropolis. And on top of that, she had left it all for him to deal with. It was almost cruel.<p>

He had fallen asleep on the uncharacteristically comfortable Victorian sofa. When he awoke he found Ty Lee throwing anything slightly pink into a shopping bag. "It's one of the reasons why I enjoyed being her friend- I could never afford this shit on my own." She offered as an explanation.

They had laughed hysterically at some of the more eccentric and geometrical pieces, wondering what had possessed her to buy such impractical things. The collection mostly consisted of red gowns that billowed around the wearer like fire, black business dresses and severe military style suits that were practically third Reich couture. It took nearly a month for them to organize a private auction for the pieces Ty Lee did not want to keep. When he finally received the full check he was relieved, but he couldn't help but dread her reaction when she found out that he had gotten rid of all her stuff.

He looked down at his own finely tailored suit and wondered what state it would be in at the end of the night. He had called in a few favors and had been able to track the location of her call to within a few yards.

There was no sign in front of the club, just a multicolored neon sign that gave the illusion of a spinning revolver. He knew how these places worked; his father had owned a few in New York. Access was reserved for recognizable celebrities and people with important connections. The clubs went above and beyond to please their patrons. As a result, the location was never advertised because some of the operations were not exactly legal. If you're high up enough in society, eventually the underworld rises up to socialize with you.

He contemplated what kind of trouble Azula could have possibly gotten herself into that she couldn't get herself out of, and why she thought he could fix the mistakes she made. He had no idea what he would do with her if he managed to get her out of this. Where could he take her where she wouldn't be a nuisance? Zurich? Singapore? Mumbai?

He could hardly predict anything involving her. A confusing duality had manifested itself in his sister for as long as he could remember.

There was the rare side of her he had seen during a brief moment they shared in the Hamptons before things fell apart. He had broken into their seldom used beachside estate by overriding the security system. Everything stood as his mother had designed it, covered over in a thick blanket of dust. That night he had almost seen a trace of empathy or maybe even just simple understanding in her downcast eyes.

"Come on, Zuko." She had said, almost gently. "Let's just forget about this place- it's fucking depressing. We can get a new summer home- Monte Carlo is much more beautiful this time of year anyway- and gambling is legal there." She had said mischievously.

And that had led to the incident in which he had helped her burn down a similar mansion belonging to a man who owed her money, thirty grand in gambling winnings she had earned earlier that evening to be precise. She certainly did not need the money; she had just been feeling particularly vindictive at the time.

Previously they had attended an illegal gambling party hosted by an attractive but cocky boy in his parent's multi-million dollar mansion. He clearly had not expected to lose 3 very expensive, very short games of poker to a pretty girl with a coy smile and golden eyes. As it turned out, it was his parents who had all the money.

Azula had apparently lost it when he refused to pay her back immediately. Zuko was distracted at the time because Mai had been sitting by the pool indecently displaying her impressive array of artistic tattoos and getting far too much attention from other men.

"This will teach him." Azula had said later that night, smiling to herself while Zuko stood beside her. The ensuing gas explosion had not been considered suspicious.

Zuko walked through the door onto an intricately patterned granite floor that he could only compare to those he had seen in renaissance paintings. The leather soles of his custom Stefano Bemer shoes made a light tapping noise against the polished stone, but he heard no trace of anyone else. He crossed the foyer warily, holding his breath.

"Azula?" He chanced to call out, walking up a short set of stairs.

A table surrounded by clearly armed men in slick emerald jackets came into view, and the one sitting at a green felt table in the center of the room had a familiar but no less unwelcome face. "So you want your sister back do you?" Long Feng asked, looking down at his rather complicated game of solitaire. Long Feng had been a serious threat to the power of his Father's organization in Brooklyn before Azula had swiftly dealt with him. He had been a major developer with territorial ambitions; even going so far as to manipulate Mayor Kuei to advance his company. After he had been driven from New York he had effectively disappeared.

"Where is she?" Zuko asked, standing in the doorway to a vast room with a glass ceiling. There was a bar on one side and tables and chairs pressed up against the walls. "I'll take her off your hands and them we can just forget about this whole thing." Zuko had no idea what he was referring to.

"I can't imagine why." Long Feng said, looking up at him for the first time and thoughtfully tugging his thin mustache. "According to her, you love her no more than I do."

"I don't know what she did to you, but I can deal with her." He said, sounding more certain than he felt.

"Is that so? After your sister dismantled my business empire she found me here and acted like it had never happened. She told me she could help me build a new business more successful than the last if I accepted her offer." He started dealing his cards again. "Did you know that your sister had a penchant for gambling?"

Zuko nodded once, his jaw was clenched too tightly to respond with words.

"Turns out she was playing at my expense- and wracking up a pretty serious bar tab too." Long Feng smiled beneath his poncy little mustache.

"Is that what you want? Money?" Zuko asked gruffly. He was ready to pull out his checkbook immediately if it meant putting this disaster to rest.

"No, no that would be far too easy!" He scoffed teasingly. "And I would not easily part with a woman of such extraordinary talents. Let's up the stakes… make this a little more interesting." He folded his cards back into a pile and looked up at Zuko's surly expression. "I'm afraid if you want your sister back, you're going to have to win her." One of his men emptied a box full of poker chips onto the table. "What do you say? You and me, heads-up?"

Zuko bit his lip. He had never been particularly good at the game, although his extremely astute uncle had taught him. He had never been able to beat genius Azula though, who outmatched him every time they sat down to play. Even the casual games usually ended with him throwing both his chips and his cards at her and storming away. Azula's one weakness was that every so often a twitch of frustration or a tiny celebratory smirk would work its way into her features. No one could beat Mai's poker face, but she had always allowed Azula to win anyway.

Before he fully knew what he was doing, Zuko sat down and one of the henchmen began dealing them both cards. "Shall we play until the bets we make reflect how much we think dear Azula is worth?" Long Feng inquired shrewdly. Zuko nodded, trying to focus and not look concerned. "Shall we start the bidding at 50 grand?" Zuko's opponent said. Zuko looked down at his mediocre hand, and agreed nonetheless.

The first 10 rounds lasted longer than any heads-up game of poker had a right to, with both of the players being equally cautious and hesitant. Neither of them was ever in the lead by more than two games.

By the time the designated dealer was shuffling the cards for the thirteenth game, the compiling bets had risen to $400,000. Long Feng fiddled with his mustache and Zuko slowly realized that he was supposed to lose. If he did not, he would be handing over the money with a gun to his head anyway.

"I do believe I will raise my bet another 50." Long Feng tilted his head and pushed more green chips to the center of the table.

"Then I guess I'll have to match it." Zuko replied through gritted teeth, and did so.

Long Feng effortlessly won with a flush, and Zuko laid down his cards. "I yield." He announced. "Consider it payment for her debts and keep her." He ripped a note from his checkbook and slammed it onto the table. "She's more trouble than she's worth." He mumbled.

"Glad we could settle it." Long Feng continued to grin and carefully placed the check in the breast pocket of his suit. "She's free to go with you anyway, but whether she will or not is really up to her." Long Feng shrugged and motioned for his bodyguards to follow him.

"What do you mean?" Zuko shouted dangerously, knocking over his chair as he stood. He had lost. Why would he relinquish his hold on her so easily after that? The guards ushered their master through a heavy set of doors and left him alone in the hall. He looked around frantically. He had misunderstood something-

Cruel, ringing laughter announced the presence of the one he had been looking for. "Glorious isn't it?" She remarked from a balcony he had not previously noticed. "I've christened this place 'The Roulette'." She looked exactly as he remembered her, wearing an evening gown made from shockingly electric blue material that was unbearably typical _Azula_. "Half a million? Zuko, I had no idea you valued me that much… this little exercise has been most enlightening." She sounded mockingly pleased.

"Azula." He started seriously. "What the hell is going on."

"You just don't get it do you?" She shook her head, letting long strands of black hair sway in front of her pale face. "Pitiful." She said with the characteristic sniff of a long time cocaine user. "How your company is still running is beyond me. You got played, Zuzu. Do you really think I would gamble myself into debt?" She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I just needed the money and you just happen to have it. Your donation is appreciated, by the way. It should at least partially cover the couture you stole from my closet."

Zuko was feeling angrier than he had in a very, very long time. He could feel a years worth of expensive therapy wearing off fast.

"You complete and utter cunt." He spat. It was a curse he used only on people he truly hated, but he knew Azula wouldn't think twice about the insult.

"Oh please, spare me." She sneered, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "You would never have given me the cash if I asked you directly. If you hadn't frozen my accounts we wouldn't have this issue."

"What are you _doing_ here with Long Feng?"

"Fucking him." She laughed again when his mouth popped open and he closed his eyes as though someone had punched him in the stomach. "Oh, I meant to say he's running the main cartel on the west coast and I'm helping him… expand." She rested her elbows on the railing, looking far too amused with herself. "But don't worry Zuzu, I haven't reversed all that rehab you so lovingly enrolled me in with only my best interests at heart."

He was running both of his hands through his hair now, both thankful and disappointed that he didn't bring a gun. "You're fucking crazy." He yelled before she completely finished her sentence.

"I'm not crazy Zuko, just clever. Far more clever than you can comprehend, apparently." She raised an eyebrow at his confused expression. "In fact, I'm beginning to think that there was never anything wrong with me in the first place." She leaned over the balcony and told him like it was a well-kept secret.

It was times like these where he began to blame himself for his life's failures all over again. "I should have never let you go free so easily I should never have let you leave the institution…"

"So they could fix me? Cure me of all my malice and antagonism? I didn't have a brother to _rescue_ me and mother was not there to call out a warning- all I had was a father who demanded the best and I strove to meet his expectations. Can you say that you did not do the same? You're so desperate to find something that sets us apart. You want to find something that justifies everything I've done; you want to convince yourself that there's a legitimate reason- a 'method to my madness.'" She said sarcastically. "When really the only distinction is that you made the right gamble against father- and I did not."

There was more genuine emotion in her tone than he was accustomed to.

"Perhaps father will get paroled in another 20 years, but until then I have found myself a more stable position. You see, when Long Feng eventually becomes powerless over his entire operation, I will be in the perfect position to step in and take control. There is nothing you can do about it either, we have both been on the wrong side of the law and I think you can agree that it often doesn't apply to people like you and me." She raised her eyebrows and twirled back to the door, ready to disappear from sight. "I have my eyes on you big brother." She told him as an afterthought, her voice rang as clear as crystal with just as many facets.

He found himself staring speechless at the place where she had been before she had vanished down a hall to places unknown. Maybe he really was foolish- foolish to have hoped there was a chance she had changed. He tossed a chair through the bar and broke a few dozen bottles for good measure, but she didn't come back. He flipped the authentic poker table over, littering the granite floor with chips and cards on his way out. He slammed the door behind him.

A California breeze echoed off the walls of the brick buildings. Unseen airplanes soared above him; the loud whirring of their jets was the only thing that confirmed they were actually there, far above the dark clouds.

The neon sign with the spinning revolver provided most of the light. _I never know when she's going to shoot me in the head._ Zuko thought bitterly, looking away from the flashing lights. He turned the collar of his trench coat up to block a cold chill that did not exist and took off down the deserted street once more, leaving his problematic sister and all her complexities behind.

* * *

><p><strong>ARGHHH! I can't believe the monster this thing turned into! Why does this always happen? Anyway, this is the end of the story, it's over now and you can pat yourself on the back for getting through the entire thing. Review please because I spent a good 5 hours finishing this last night! And I can see how it would be easy to either love it or hate it, so all feedback will be rewarded with a cookie. <strong>

**Am I the only one who sees Zuko and Azula as that couple in the club screaming at each other over house music? Just me? Oh…**

**To clear a few things up: Ozai was essentially a mob boss under the cover of a huge real estate empire (making him essentially the king of NYC) Long Feng owned a rival corporation (and found his niche in another lucrative, morally questionable business in L.A. I guess)**

**Katara is a med-student at Columbia (bankrolled by dear Zuko)**

**Azula had a mental breakdown a la Dr. House (after he took too much Vicodin for too damn long)**

**Poker would be Pai Sho in this universe**

**Count Chocula is the **_**cereal of evil**_**, clearly. **

**I admit that I shamelessly borrowed Logan Montstuart's ultimate insult from **_**Any Human Heart**_**, a lovely book (and BBC miniseries) for anyone who enjoys sexy but realistically historical espionage novels. **

**If I ever get around to writing more of/posting ANY of my multi-parter before senior year it will be astounding. I'll put a description of **_**House of the Rising Sun**_** in my bio. It definitely has a different tone and focus than this one does. **


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